


and she never wanted to leave

by kay_emm_gee



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-28 04:32:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18749089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kay_emm_gee/pseuds/kay_emm_gee
Summary: During the Long Night battle, Sansa still believes she is strongest within the walls of Winterfell, even when the castle falls and the dead are upon them…at least, until others change her mind.{ Game of Thrones S8 AU }





	and she never wanted to leave

**Author's Note:**

> Written before 8x03 aired, because Sansa hadn’t reviewed her history with the Hound yet, and because I love callbacks and sister bonds.

“Run, run! Horses and wagons are waiting outside the walls!”

Arya drove her blade into the chest of yet another dead man, then looked over at the Northerners pouring out of the crypt entrance and heading for the rear gate.

She grimaced. The dead had come, and they had fought, but the Night King had never shown his face.

Evacuation and retreat was the only option left to them now. The majority of their fighting forces were now just holding the front line as long as possible to give the non-combatants more time to flee. Arya, along with others, stayed in the fight by picking off any of the dead that had managed to break through that front line.

A claw-like hand grabbed her shoulder, and she spun around. She backhanded one skeleton that had crept up on her and lashed out at another. As they advanced again, she shut out the panicked shouts and battle cries around her by sinking into the deep well of her mind– _swiftquietquickcalm_ –to finish them off.

It was brief, violent work, and then she was surveying the retreat of Winterfell’s people–her family’s people,  _her_  people–once more.

“That’s the last of them!” A solider called, jogging to catch up to the end of the scurrying line of survivors.

As she watched them retreat, something sliced through Arya, searing and unbearably painful. She had seen dark haired heads run past, and those with light hair, but not once had she seen a flash of her sister’s dark auburn hair in the crowd leaving the crypts.

She knew she had not missed her, even in the chaos of battle. She was sure of it, and that meant that Sansa had not left the crypts.

Immediatley, Arya charged across the courtyard towards the steps leading into the ground, only to collide with a wall of armor in the doorway.

“Seven hells,” a rough voice swore. “What are you  _doing_?”

Arya looked up into the furious face of the Hound. After steadying herself, she aimed her weapon at his chest. “I’m going to find my sister, so get out of my way.”

“There’s no one down there. I made sure of that.”  
  
“She didn’t evacuate with the rest,” Arya argued.

“Well, she’s not down there,” he spat back.

Letting out a frustrated grunt, Arya backed up and started walking back into the yard.

The Hound followed. “Where would she–”

Before he could finish, Arya set off at a dead run, knowing exactly where her sister had gone.

* * *

Sansa turned from watching the snow swirl outside to stare at crackling fire in front of her. Reaching her hands out, she welcomed the warmth of the Great Hall’s hearth on her numb fingers. The crypts had been frigid, and even with the great storm besieging them, the hall would keep out the worst chill, for at least a little while longer.

Soon, though, the dead would come, and then there would be no one to keep the fire going. The winter winds would whistle and whine through the empty halls, and snow would whirl in and settle on every surface. Ice would encrust the stones, seeping into every crevice until even the castle’s foundation deep beneath the earth cracked.

Sansa closed her eyes, almost able to picture it. Mayhaps one day someone would write a song about a castle made of ice and snow, and the ghosts who haunted its halls. She smiled, wistful and bitter, because she would not be there to hear that melody.

_We never should have left._

It seems ages ago that she had made that confession to Jon, but it was still the truest thing she had ever said. She should never have left home, and now, she never would leave again.

_I am stronger within the walls of Winterfell._

 

Here. This is where she chose to breathe her last, in the room where she could remember her family as she wished to: together, happy and whole. Sansa fingered the dragonglass blade in her pocket, wondering if her bravery or the dead would find her first.

She thought she had her answer when the door flew open, but it was not dead things that charged in, but rather Arya.

“What in the bloody seven hells are you doing?” She yelled. “We need to leave,  _now_!”

Sansa opened her mouth, but the words caught in her throat. Tears welled, and she just stared at her sister–little, annoying, brave, strange Arya–covered in blood and grime.

“I can’t,” she finally whispered. “I cannot–I can’t–not again–”

A sob choked her. Fear ate at her insides as she thought of abandoning the place they had fought so long and hard to regain. She couldn’t,  _wouldn’t_  leave home again.

“Sansa,” Arya barked. “Come on!”

Her sister grabbed her wrist and yanked. Stumbling forward, Sansa did not fight her, but neither did she move of her own volition.

Arya huffed in frustration. “I may have to tell Jon that I changed my mind, that you  _aren’t_  the smartest person I’ve met. I don’t think I’d like to do that, considering he’s like to hold that over my head for a while.

“Arya,” Sansa pleaded. “I cannot leave. I cannot  _leave_ our  _home!”_  Her voice broke on the last word.

As tears blurred her vision, she felt her sister’s hand let go of her wrist. Then Arya was gripping her face, pulling it close to her own.

“This burning castle is not our home. Jon and Bran and I,  _we_ are your home. And you are ours, and I am  _not_  leaving you behind!”

For a few long moments, Sansa could only hear Arya’s rough breathing and her own stifled sobs. Then the hall door burst open again, and she and Arya turned, startled, to see what awaited.

The Hound panted and leaned against the doorframe, sending them both a black glare.

“You two will be the bloody death of me,” he shouted. “Get outside.  _NOW_.”

“She didn’t want to leave,” Arya snapped back. “So I came to get her.”

With a grunt, the Hound straightened up and then swaggered toward them. As he approached, Sansa blinked away the tears from her eyes. She tipped her chin up and stared, unabashedly, as he reached the two of them.

“Now listen here, little bird,” he growled as he addressed her. “I offered you the chance to escape your cage once, and you did not take it. I must be a fuckin’ fool, or the gods must be having a good fuckin’ laugh at me, for being in this position a second time, but here I am, saving you, again. Now…are you going to fly away this time, little bird, or are you going to let yourself be fodder for dead men?”

Sansa took in a shaky breath, then nodded and began walking towards the door. She heard Arya and the Hound arguing behind her, but she did not look back. With her head held high, she walked through the castle halls, across the battle-scarred courtyard, and out of the rear gate without looking back. As she mounted her horse, she realized she was crying again. This time, Sansa did not try to stifle the tears. No one was around to see her, and she, and her people, would need her composure more later.

She did not cast even a single glance behind her as she nudged her horse into a trot, then a canter. The frigid wind stung her wet cheeks, but she did not pause. The dead were relentless, and so they would have to be as well. By the time she caught up to the last non-combatant group to leave, the approach of Arya and the Hound could be heard from behind them. Still, Sansa kept her eyes forward.

It was only hours later, when they had reached the crest of the hills bordering the Stark lands, that Sansa found herself strong enough to decide to turn her mount around.

Winterfell was aflame, casting dark shadows on the fighting troops that were finally making their own retreat. Her chest ached at the sight, but Arya had been right. So, as the castle glowed like a dying ember on the horizon, Sansa preserved its silhouette in her memory before tugging on the reins and nudging her horse southward once more.

The ghosts would have Winterfell for now, but with her family by her side, Sansa knew, without a doubt, that someday, they would take it back.


End file.
